The Summoning Bell
by clockworktrain
Summary: Alice becomes embroiled in a deadly game of cat and mouse with an unknown opponent in Chipenden. With the weight of her past still pressing upon her, Alice must choose how she will respond. Does she truly belong to the dark?
1. A Familiar Ringing

**ONE: A Familiar Ringing**

Alice would have liked to blame it all on the incident in the village, but in truth even she could recognize that the seed was planted many years ago, maybe even before she had met Tom Ward. Still, the events that occurred in that village ignited something in Alice, or maybe snuffed something out. She could not be sure of any of these things, but she was sure that she felt different when she returned to Chipenden.

Alice, as she often did, had gone with Tom on spook's business to this village. It was clear that a boggart was plaguing these people, but one ignorant man took one look at Alice – a pretty young woman with pointy shoes and a sharp sense of smell – and accused her of witchcraft. Alice had nearly laughed at the time. A grown man was stupid enough to think that she had not only been draining blood from cattle and people in the area, but that coming to the village to tend to the wounded was simply part of her cunning. Never mind that she had been days away in Chipenden while the boggart committed its grisly crimes. It all would have been mostly harmless, but that one man's accusation was enough to stir up the rest of the village men into a frenzy. By the time Alice and Tom left the village, with the boggart safely bound and many villagers saved, those men were building a pyre on which to burn her. She brushed it off in front of Tom, but the villagers' behavior was starting to wear on her, sending her a message she would rather ignore.

That was why Alice was in a foul mood, and had been for over a week, which was why she ignored the bell at the withy trees when it rang. The bell had rung in the wee hours of the morning, waking Tom and Alice from a dead sleep. Alice pretended not to hear the bell, rolling over as Tom's warmth disappeared and left her back cold. He returned shortly, just as she was starting to drift off again, whispering that a farmer's lad came to fetch him to deal with a cattle-ripper, and he would be back that evening or the day after. Alice hummed a response, nodding her head, and Tom had kissed her forehead before she slipped back into sleep.

Tom had been gone for nearly a day, and Alice had run out of ways to occupy herself. She had already taken her customary walk before breakfast, collecting calendula, elder, and other useful plants, parts of which were now drying on the windowsill in the late afternoon sun. She filled the time between breakfast and lunch well enough, finishing her self-imposed project of copying out one of the books in the library. Old Gregory may have had some outdated notions in his lifetime, but she had to agree that expanding the library was a wise idea. Now, some time after lunch, the sun just beginning to creep toward the horizon, Alice was feeling like a wild animal penned up in the Chipenden house. She felt slightly guilty for letting her bad mood prevent her from going with Tom on spook's business, especially if that cattle-ripper turned dangerous toward humans. If someone died of their injuries, it would be her fault for not being there to help.

So when she heard the familiar bell ringing, she did not even consider staying put. Setting off toward the grove of withy trees, she deeply inhaled the smell of the crisp breeze of early autumn. It smelled of apples, with just a hint of the coming winter and – something else. Something odd. Alice sniffed again, more deliberately this time. Rotting meat? While rotting meat was certainly not out of the ordinary, it smelled closer than she would expect. The boggart wouldn't let meat go bad, would it? In any case she would have sniffed that out inside the house. No, this was something else. She sniffed again and smelled only that strange rotten odor.

The rotten smell only got stronger as she continued down the lane toward the bell. With a sinking feeling like a rock falling through her belly, Alice saw a strange lump shaded by the withy trees in the near distance. When she stepped into the shadow of the grove, she saw it for what it truly was – a person sitting on the ground, leaning against the tree to which the bell was tied, his back to her. The person looked small, surely no more than a child.

"Hello?" Alice called, the rock in her belly lifting slightly. The child did not so much as stir. Had he been waiting so very long? Perhaps he rang the bell hours ago while Alice had been dozing in the armchair, and had been waiting ever since? The breeze lifted, and with it carried the smell of rotting meat, stronger than ever. The rock inside her, suddenly swollen into a boulder, dropped like an anchor as Alice made the connection.

The child was dead. The body at the bell was dead.

Alice crept forward to confirm what she already knew, the tiniest bit of hopeful human nature burning inside her like an ember. But when she turned and saw the child's face, nothing could be worse. Long since dead, the skin that was left on the young boy was a yellowy white in color, his eyes and lips eaten away by carrion birds. His throat was cut deeply, the shirtfront soaked in blood, though his head had been perfectly balanced to hide the wound and create the illusion of life from the back. Alice covered her mouth and nose, unable to allow the smell in any longer. But she could not take her eyes off of this child. He was no more than seven or eight years old, with straight sandy brown hair and plain clothes. She did not recognize him as one of the children from the Chipenden village, but that did not mean he couldn't be. The villagers weren't exactly neighborly toward Alice at the best of times; many still remembered her as Bony Lizzie's niece, as a skinny lass with threadbare clothes and pointy shoes who hissed at village boys. Alice couldn't blame them even now, and mostly kept her distance until she and Tom needed provisions.

Especially after her last encounter with villagers some miles south of Chipenden, Alice worried about this corpse so close by. The villagers would surely blame her, call her a murderer, assume she killed this young child for some dark ritual. What was she to do? It seemed too dangerous to take the body into the spook's garden, and, frankly, Alice wasn't sure she had the stomach to do so. Perhaps it would be safer – perhaps it would redirect suspicion – if she reacted as any other person would, and fetched help from the village. She could go for the butcher, she supposed. He was one of the braver men of the village, and was never outright rude to her. And he certainly was no stranger to death, though this child at the withy trees would shake even the biggest of men. Still, Alice could think of no one else barring Tom returning a day early.

So Alice set of at a run to the village. The butcher was closing up shop when she reached him, the sun gleaming low in the sky. She surged toward him with a burst of speed.

"Can you help me?" she called out to him, dispensing with any greeting or pleasantries.

"Oh!" the man looked surprised, even fearful. "Do you… do you need a doctor, miss?"

"No, I found –" she hesitated. "I found a child."

The butcher's eyes softened slightly. "Where'd you find him?"

"Spook's bell rang, and when I went to tell whoever it was that the spook's away, the child was sitting there." It wasn't a lie.

"All by himself, is he?"

She nodded. "Thought you might be able to help. Don't know what to do with him myself."

The butcher hesitated at first, then said "Certainly. Let me lock up shop and I'll follow you up the hill. Get a head start while I close up, I'll join you as soon as I can."

"Thank you." Alice was relieved, and the butcher walked fast enough to reach her before she had even crested the hill. He was a big man with big strides.

"How old do you reckon this child is?" the butcher asked, clearly in order to break the silence. If the villagers found anything worse than conversing with Alice, it was Alice in silence.

"Seven, maybe eight."

"Oh, has he said anything to you? Anything at all about where he comes from, who left him here?"

Alice blanched, nearly coming to a standstill. "No. He's said nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

Alice shook her head. Her pulse was rising. They were nearing the withy trees. The butcher would turn on her, she knew it. His scent was overpowering, all sour sweat and rusty blood. He would see the child's corpse at the bell and assume she murdered him and brought the butcher to gloat, to lord her dark power over the village. He would attack her for such cruelty, and she would be forced to fight back. She would kill him, though she wouldn't want to, and the village would hunt her down. Tom would return and defend her, of course, caught between his duty to the County and his loyalty to her and –

"Well where is he?" the butcher asked. Alice stopped.

The body of the child was no longer at the bell.

* * *

 **A/N: Well here I am. I have two quick things to say: 1. Reviews will make me update faster. They just will. 2. I haven't read the Starblade Chronicles and I probably never will. PM me about the first 13 books though, I have lots of things to say.**


	2. A Merry Chase

**TWO: A Merry Chase**

"Did you bring him inside?" asked the butcher, poking his head into the dense forest at the edge of the grove.

"No," Alice said, turning in a perpetual circle in search of the lost corpse. How could it be missing? She was gone not fifteen minutes, and the body could not have walked off on its own. She couldn't smell anything in the wind, not even the body's rotting.

"What?" the butcher stood in front of her, forcing her to come to a standstill. He folded his arms. "You let a little boy sit out here on his own?"

"Can't allow people to enter the spook's house, now can I?"

"You left a child on his own!"

"I wasn't the one who dropped him here for anyone to take!"

The butcher suddenly looked fearful again. "Does…is it…could it be that your aunt has him? The witch? Bony Lizzie?"

Alice did her best not to sneer, but still did not come off as exactly sympathetic. "Lizzie's been dead for years. She's no sort of threat here."

The butcher's hand made a dry rustling sound as he rubbed at his beard, still eyeing Alice with a touch of concern. "Then perhaps he ran off. He could be hiding in the woods."

"It's late to start a search now," Alice remarked quietly. "Sun's already going down."

"I'll round up some men from the village and we'll light some lanterns and find the child. He didn't tell you his name?"

"He didn't say a word." Again, it wasn't a lie.

The butcher hmphed. "Well, maybe some local mother is missing her child and can tell us his name. You get yourself back into the house for the night. If we find the child, I'll ring the spook's bell."

Alice agreed, albeit unhappily, and returned to the cottage. She was late for supper, which was now burned to the point of inedibility by the ever-punctual boggart. For once, Alice didn't mind; she was too preoccupied to eat anyway, what with the disappearing corpse and the wild goose chase on which she had inadvertently set the butcher and no doubt half the village men too. There was simply no good way for this scenario to end. Either the butcher and his men find the child's corpse, and see that the boy has been dead for weeks and thus catch Alice in a dangerous lie, or they find nothing and continue their search until the men lose their faith. Though she did so with no small amount of guilt, Alice began to hope that the men found nothing in the woods – at least until Tom returned.

She lay awake most of the night, drifting off to catch a few hours of sleep only when her body demanded it. Her mind could not be quieted, however, and she dreamed of bells and withy trees and finding corpses that looked like Tom when he was young. She was famished in the early morning, giving up on rest as the sun was rising. Shaking the sleep from her brain, she sat in the cold gray light of the western garden, the chill of the bench seeping into her skin through her dress.

Alice pondered the mystery that had been set before her, chewing it over in her mind. What sort of person would leave a child's corpse out for the local spook to find, and then take it away? The boy still had his thumb bones, Alice had noticed, and the body was not drained of more blood than would be lost from the deep wound in his throat. It could have just been a desperate person who lost their child and could not face their poor boy's death, and so left the body for the spook to deal with.

But who cut the boy's throat? And why not leave the body for the magistrate to find? And _why take it away again_?

Alice groaned in frustration, shivering in the early morning breeze. She stood, beginning to pace the perimeter of the garden, when the breeze came through again and she smelled it. Rotting meat. It was the same strange smell she had smelled the previous day, which meant –

Alice hurried down the lane to the circle of withy trees. Before she even reached it, she could just see in the shade the same odd shape she had seen the previous evening beneath the spook's bell. The missing body had returned.

"No." She spoke as if not accepting the truth would simply erase it. Someone had replaced the corpse at the bell. Why was it now suddenly convenient for this madman to allow the villagers to find the body? No doubt the butcher would return to ring the bell after finding nothing in the woods. The killer must be expecting Alice to move the body, to bring it into the spook's garden. If found, the body of a child in the spook's garden would be devastating, even more so than if found at the bell. Alice decided to leave it. She would not allow somebody to make her decisions for her. She would leave the body where it was. Knowing the breakfast bell would ring at any second, she turned her back on the corpse and went back to the cottage.

The breakfast that was waiting for her wasn't good. Alice was starved, and she had definitely had worse, so she ate her fill, blaming the poor cooking on the boggart always liking Tom more anyway. Everybody always like Tom more anyway. She certainly wasn't bitter about it – she would be the first to admit that she herself preferred Tom over anybody or anything – but it was becoming a grating inconvenience for Alice to be so disliked and distrusted by everyone she met, especially when she was continually working at her own peril to help the County. But in truth this was Tom's County, not Alice's. This was Tom's County, Tom's house, Tom's breakfast; even the boggart regarded Alice as a trespasser. It chafed on Alice most when she was alone, when Tom wasn't around to remind her with just his presence that she was wanted, that she was more than her dark heritage.

But Tom was out doing his job. He was the one who was supposed to protect the County, Alice reminded herself, and she was here alone. She did not have the resources to defend the village from a disappearing corpse, and it wasn't her responsibility anyway. Tom would be back sometime today or tomorrow, and he could deal with it himself. The spook never got much payment or thanks, but the villagers trusted him more than they trusted Alice. It simply was not worth her while to put her life on the line for those ungrateful, ignorant people. She should have left well enough alone in the first place, and not gotten the butcher involved, she could see that now. Alice thanked the boggart for the mediocre breakfast and thought herself right for leaving the corpse where it was, intending to show it to Tom when he returned.

Alice changed her mind before she had finished crossing the kitchen threshold. This was her mess. Alice had answered the spook's bell, she had involved the butcher and told him a lie. She would have to do something to solve this. She took an old blanket from the linen cupboard with her – the most motheaten one she could find – and returned to the withy trees, where the corpse of the child lay undisturbed as if it had never moved. But it had moved, it was not just a trick of the light or a weakness in the butcher's mind. Someone had deposited the corpse, removed it, and replaced it in order to prevent the butcher from seeing and cast Alice's story into doubt. Alice wrapped the corpse as gently as she could, retching from the rotting smell that was released as she moved it. Acutely aware of the disrespect she was paying the innocent child, she dragged the blanketed body into the garden and tucked it into a shady corner to await Tom's return. She felt a shiver creeping up her spine when she turned her back on the body and went back into the house.

The bell rang not two hours later, and Alice found the butcher alone at the withy trees, looking despondent.

"We searched all night." Alice noticed the purple bags beneath his eyes and the deep hoarseness of his voice. "But we didn't find him."

"Could've wandered his way back home by now." Alice's comforting words were a blatant lie, and she saw the last spark of hope leave the butcher's eyes. She bit her tongue to stop the pang in her heart from seeping into her words. It's not as if the truth was any sort of consolation. The butcher just sighed, his shoulders stooping, and started back toward the village. Alice watched him walk out of her sight, chewing her lip. She turned her gaze to where the body of the corpse had been. There was no evidence of it now, but Alice knew as soon as she returned to the garden she would have to find somewhere permanent to keep the body. She dragged her feet when leaving the withy grove.

As she neared the cottage, she felt a growing warmth; it was a feeling like crawling into bed on a winter's night, like a hot drink soothing her from the inside out, and she relaxed into a smile at the familiar sensation. A voice came from the back door of the cottage.

"Alice?"

Tom was back.

* * *

 **Here, have another chapter in the hopes someone will review.**


	3. A Grave in the Fells

**THREE: A Grave in the Fells**

Alice barreled into the cottage and into Tom's arms, nearly toppling them both. Tom just laughed, holding her tightly.

"Oh, Tom!" Alice pressed her forehead into his neck, her arms wrapped so tightly that her voice was muffled.

"What's happened?" Tom asked, knowing her well enough to recognize the change in the tone of her voice. She untangled her arms and beckoned him to follow her back out into the garden. She led him to where she had stowed the body in the motheaten blanket. Unwrapping it slowly, exposing the corpse and all its smells, she wryly thought that Tom would never allow this blanket on their bed again.

"Someone left this at the withy trees last evening and rang the bell," Alice explained quietly.

"It's a child," Tom said hoarsely, crouching at the foot of the body.

"I know."

"Who could kill a child this young?"

"It wasn't a witch," Alice said, indicating the boy's intact thumbs.

"Then why leave him here?"

"Don't know that, do I? He's been dead for days, weeks even."

Tom sighed, pressing his hand to his mouth in thought.

"I…I told the butcher." Alice felt guilty.

"The butcher? Why?"

"I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to move the body, and I thought maybe telling the butcher would absolve me of any suspicion when they found it. But…."

"But…?"

"Made it all worse, as only I seem to be able to do."

Tom smiled sadly at Alice as she plopped on the bench. She rubbed at the headache looming in her temples.

"Thought if I brought the butcher back to a corpse he'd blame me straight away. So I let him believe that the child was alive. And now every man in the village is searching for a boy that doesn't exist, and I had to drag this one in here."

Tom sat beside her and rubbed her back. He kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her back as she let her hands fall to her lap.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"What should you be sorry for?"

"Make every day of your life more difficult, I do. Think of all the things that wouldn't've happened if I hadn't been around to make trouble. Mother Malkin would still be safe in a pit, she would, and –"

"Alice," Tom cut her off, turning her shoulders so she would face him. "I would do it all again. All of it."

"Even—"

"Yes."

Alice breathed out, falling into silence.

"How was the boggart?" she finally asked quietly.

"Easy bind, really. The farmer was brave enough to help and no one was hurt besides a few heads of cattle."

"That's good."

"It seems like the exciting bit was all here."

"Well, it ain't over yet, is it? We've got a child's corpse and no idea who put it here, and a small army of Chipenden men sniffing around like dogs!" She sighed angrily, standing to push off Tom's arm. She didn't deserve his comfort.

"It's not your fault."

"Ain't it?" Alice snapped rhetorically.

"No," Tom said calmly. "Like you said, whoever it was left the body at the bell. So don't you reckon it's a message for me?"

Alice nodded. It did seem the most likely answer. "Still doesn't explain who though, does it?"

"No it certainly doesn't."

Alice walked back to the foot of the corpse. Hesitantly, she gently sniffed it to search for any more clues the corpse could give her. It just smelled like decay, and turned her head to the side and gagged.

"We can't keep this here much longer." Tom stated the obvious. Alice couldn't help but agree.

* * *

They buried the boy on one of the fells after lunch, marking the place with a pair of sticks lashed together in a rudimentary cross. They agreed he would be reburied in hallowed ground once he was identified.

"His spirit is gone, at least," Tom said as they stood over the grave. Alice was almost disappointed – the child's spirit could have answered many mysteries – and then hated herself for hoping a boy's spirit had not gone on to peace. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against Tom. He kissed the top of her head. "We'll find who did this," he assured her, misconstruing her shame for grief. She just nodded, letting him think the best of her. They descended the fell together, returning to the cottage hand in hand.

After supper, Tom wrote up his latest spook's business in his journal, Alice sitting in a chair beside him. She was holding a book open in her lap but she hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. It had been cold enough that evening to light a fire, and Alice was staring into the yellow flames.

"The villagers all hate me," Alice muttered.

"No they don't."

"They _do_ though. They're scared of me. Scared of what I could do."

"They don't know you." Tom put down his pen, but Alice did not take her eyes off of the fire. " _I_ know you, and _I'm_ not scared of you. Not in the least."

Alice glanced at his boyish grin with a smirk of her own, then turned back to the fire. Tom picked up his pen and started writing again. For a few minutes there was no sound but the crackle of the fire and the scratching of the pen.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"If you had been there – if it had been you who found the body at the withy trees, what would you have done?" Alice's gaze remained on the fire, but her expression was distant.

"Just what you did, probably. Gone to get the butcher, or maybe the blacksmith. I don't have the authority to deal with something like that alone."

"And what would you have told them?"

"That some cruel person left a body and rang the bell."

"Exactly!" Alice jumped to her feet, eyes suddenly alight. "But I lied and told him the boy was alive."

"It's alright Alice, you had to—" Tom cut himself off when he saw the expectant look on Alice's face, her dark eyes very wide. "You had to."

Alice nodded slowly, waiting for him to understand.

"You had to," he repeated, "because the villagers fear you."

She nodded again.

"Then whoever left the body was trying to frame you? Trying to make the villagers think that you killed that boy?"

Alice perched on the arm of Tom's chair, folding her arms and furrowing her brow thoughtfully and looking back at the fire. "Don't think so. This person's too smart. I think they knew I'd lie to the butcher, or whoever I brought to the body, and send the village on a merry chase for the boy we buried in the fells. That's why they moved the body before I got back with the butcher."

"Then why put it back?"

Alice shrugged.

"If whoever it is knew that your lie would get the village men out searching…. Then this person's going to attack the village while the men are gone?"

"Maybe." Alice wasn't convinced, but neither did she have a more likely solution.

"In any case, this person must know you." Tom reached for Alice's hand. "If they knew enough to get the men out of the village, they know you live here and who you are."

* * *

 **Special shout out to La plume de Mimi and guest Lily. This one's for you two. As always, message me/review me with any comments/questions/conundrums**


	4. A Fallen Tree

**FOUR: A Fallen Tree**

The bell rang again that night, just as the sun was rising and casting orange light into the cottage. Alice roused herself enough to follow Tom out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the blanket she had stolen from the bed on their way out. They both stumbled sleepily out of the cottage, but the crisp outside air was enlivening, and Alice found herself wide awake by the time they reached the grove of withy trees. She waited at the edge of the shadowed grove while Tom went to investigate.

There was no one at the bell. This wasn't entirely out of the norm – some folk were so terrified out of their wits from whatever was plaguing them that they were too scared to face the spook that could help them.

"Can you sniff 'em out?" Tom asked. Alice sniffed at the air, but could not smell anyone. Even if they had started running just after ringing the bell, no one could have gotten out of her range that quickly.

"Nothing," she said. "Maybe it's a seventh son of a seventh son," she added wryly.

"Or a witch." Tom only voiced what she was already thinking. Who else would know Alice well enough to play such a cruel game?

"Let's go back. Shivering out here in the damp, I am."

Tom nodded, walking toward her as she turned to head back to the cottage. Before he reached her, there was a colossal crash behind them, so loud that Alice gave a cry of fear. She whipped around to see one of the withy trees fallen into the center of the circular grove. Its sharp branches, already bare for autumn, were shaking from the impact.

"Oh, God!" Tom shouted, running back into the grove. Alice hesitated for a moment, then saw what he was running toward.

A body was trapped beneath the fallen tree, a leg and lower arm just visible from under the wide trunk. Alice rushed to help Tom, but her instincts told her there was nothing they could do for this person. Tom stooped by the tree, wrapping his arms underneath the trunk and attempting to lift it off its poor victim. The fallen tree would not budge.

"Alice – Alice help me. Pull him out!" Tom was straining under the tree.

Alice just shook her head. There was nothing left they could do for the man beneath the tree; she could already smell decay. Tom stepped back from his efforts to stand beside her.

"We can't leave him there," he said.

"I know."

"We have to go get help."

They both know who that meant.

"You go," Alice told him. "Think it's for the best if I stay out of the way."

Tom nodded and kissed her cheek before setting off toward the village. Alice meandered back into the bounds of the western garden, still shivering in her nightgown and blanket. She dressed for the day and went to the kitchen at the breakfast bell, eating a little bit and packing some food into a basket to bring down to Tom. No doubt it would take some time to remove the heavy tree from the dead man, and Alice knew Tom would not leave until the job was complete. Perhaps the dark was involved here, but Tom would need his strength and Alice never held with Old Gregory's fasting principle anyway.

Alice heard shouting as she neared the withy grove. She could make out Tom's voice among the arguers.

"Don't be absurd! That's not what happened," Tom was saying.

"The truth is, you don't _know_ what happened," another voice said angrily. Alice sniffed in the voice's direction and recognized the blacksmith from the village. "The truth is, you're an apprentice who didn't finish his time! You don't know what she could be doing while you're away!"

 _She_. Alice, surely the _she_ herself, stepped behind a tree closer to the grove so that she might listen further. A sick self-hatred stirred her curiosity.

"She would never do something like this," Tom said calmly.

"Who else could have done it then?"

"We're very near Pendle," Tom explained as if he were speaking to a child and not a group of grown men. "There are many witches up there who are more than capable."

"And you trust that this Alice girl is not consorting with the Pendle clans?" the blacksmith was yelling at top volume now.

"I trust Alice with my life." Alice felt a prickling warmth in her chest.

"Then you're trusting her with our lives too!" Another voice joined the fight. The greengrocer, Alice thought. "The lives of our wives and children! Our livestock! There were cattle killings not so far from Chipenden. How do we know it isn't your Alice behind those?"

 _Your Alice_. The greengrocer meant it to be degrading, but somehow Alice felt honored to be Tom's. Before now it would have sickened her to be thought of as belonging to anyone, much less a man, but she was confident that just as she belonged to Tom, Tom belonged to her. She entered the grove of withy trees and all eyes turned upon her. The three other men looked at her in fear – speak of the devil and it shall appear – but Tom smiled at her presence.

"A boggart killed the cattle," Tom explained to the men around him, taking Alice's hand as she stood beside him. "I bound the boggart safely, and no cattle have been killed since."

The greengrocer shifted uncomfortably under Alice's gaze. He could not meet her eyes, and was the first of the men to storm from the withy trees back toward the village. The butcher and blacksmith, the other two Tom had fetched from the village, were not so easily cowed. They held their ground, the blacksmith crossing his big arms over his bigger chest and the butcher doing likewise when he saw his fellow. That two such burly men felt so threatened by slim Alice would never cease to astound her. It was like they could sense what she was capable of.

"What is it that I'm meant to have done, then?" she asked accusatorially. Tom tugged her hand and led her to the fallen tree. They had shifted it off the dead man, who was now covered head to toe by a white sheet someone had evidently brought from the village. Tom pointed beyond the man's body, at the stump of the tree that had fallen. The tree had been cut, felled purposefully, but not by any means known to the village men. It was as if the tree had been sliced with one swing of an axe; the stump was smooth across the top, with no visible marks from any type of blade. Alice squeezed Tom's hand to show she understood. It was clear some sort of magic had been involved in the felling of this tree and the death of this man.

"How did you not sniff him out?" Tom whispered, not in blame but sheer confusion.

"Must've been cloaked by something." She shrugged, as confused as he. She turned at the sound of the blacksmith's heavy footsteps coming up behind her.

"Well?" he asked, arms still crossed. "Have you any explanation for this?"

"A strong man and a sharp axe," she replied with a smirk. "Rules you out."

Tom gave her a look. "We don't know what this is. It still could have been an accident."

"An accident?" the butcher roared, coming level with the blacksmith. They were both backlit by the sun, shadows cast over their faces.

"There have been strong winds lately." Tom sounded small to Alice. She squeezed his hand again in the hopes he would remain firm.

"Strong winds? You think strong winds knocked down a tree like this? You said yourself you were out here and heard nothing!"

Tom mussed his own hair, looking back at the fallen tree while he thought of a response. He settled on changing the subject. "Will you take the body down to the village? It could be that someone else recognizes him. What's most important is that we return this man to his family."

The blacksmith and the butcher couldn't argue with this. Sharing a look, the two men stooped to heave the body, the blacksmith at the shoulders and the butcher at the ankles. They carried the body, still covered in the sheet, between them, and left Tom and Alice alone beneath the withy trees. Tom turned to Alice as soon as the men were out of earshot.

"I'm sorry you heard all that."

Alice shook her head, smiling faintly. "Nothin' to trouble me."

"Well, what do you think about the tree?"

"I don't know, Tom." Alice knelt beside the stump, tracing the smooth wood with her fingertips. "Traces of magic here, there is, but you knew that already."

"Can you tell who did the spell?"

Alice shook her head.

"Can you sense anything else at all?"

"What do you want me to do, Tom?" Alice stood. "I can't feel anything here. I couldn't sniff out that man even before he was dead! Something really powerful did this, Tom."

Saying it out loud sparked a little fear in Alice. This was the second corpse left at the withy trees in as many days, and they were no closer to discovering the culprit than they were before.


	5. A Gathering Storm

**FIVE: A Gathering Storm**

Things began to deteriorate shortly after the man's body was found at the withy trees and brought back down to the village. It was a quiet few days for spook's business, so Tom and Alice stuck around the cottage, trying to occupy themselves but avoiding all discussion of the bodies at the bell. Alice felt on edge every day, as if the bell would ring at any second and they would find another delivered corpse.

She joined Tom on their weekly journey to gather provisions in the village. It was both an opportunity to get out of the cottage and to pass through the withy grove and check that nothing was waiting beneath the bell. The grove was clear, a few locals having taken the fallen tree away for firewood and thatch. But for the strangely cut stump, it was as if nothing had happened. If Alice had not known to look for it, she would have passed through the grove unaware of the felled tree.

In the village they stopped at the butcher's first as always, since he had the sack for their provisions. The usual women were in the shop, and the butcher joked with them from behind the counter. All fell silent, however, when Tom and Alice walked in. Tom just smiled congenially and approached the counter.

"We're here for this week's order," he told the butcher. The butcher nodded, placing the sack on the counter. The lump made by the meat inside was noticeably smaller than usual.

"Stock's low this week," the butcher said gruffly when Tom hesitated to pick up the sack.

Alice frowned when the butcher's eyes flicked to her. There was a glint in his eyes that made her uneasy. But Tom thanked the butcher politely, paid him, and walked Alice out of the shop with a warm hand on the small of her back. In the greengrocer's it was much the same. The shoppers averted their eyes, and supply was low. Alice's uneasiness only grew. Only the baker filled their order as expected, but still Tom and Alice started back to the cottage with the sack not three quarters as full as usual.

"Ridiculous, this is," Alice grumbled. "We should go back and demand what we ordered!"

"It'll only make it worse, Alice. We can survive on this for the week."

Alice kicked a large pebble with the toe of her pointy shoe, watching it skitter to the side of the lane. She fumed silently for the next hundred paces.

"S'pose I won't come down to the village with you anymore," she decided.

"It couldn't hurt," Tom agreed sadly. "But, if it makes you feel any better, I think they're as suspicious of me as they are of you. They'll confront me again someday soon, I'm sure."

Alice didn't answer, for they heard the bell at the withy trees ringing wildly. Tom and Alice were some distance away, still well below the hill where the lanes crossed. Alice sniffed at the air.

"Anything?" Tom asked.

"A man at the bell. A living one," she said. But a new uneasy feeling was rising in Alice, her apprehension in the village multiplied tenfold. It was like something scrabbling inside her, scratching its claws to get out.

"I suppose we'd better help him."

They quickened their pace and reached the withy grove before the last peal of the bell had echoed out of their ears. A man in his early forties was pacing beneath the trees. Part of his shirt collar was folded inward and his jacket was buttoned in the wrong holes, leaving one side hanging lower than the other. His boots were muddy; Alice could faintly smell the odors of his farm clinging to him.

"Please!" He rushed forward as soon as he saw them. "Can you help me? Is the spook in?"

"I'm the spook," Tom said, resting the sack of food on the ground at his feet. "How can I help?"

" _You're_ the spook?" The man gave Tom a once-over, then glanced from Alice's pointy shoes to her face and back again. "You're… You're not what I expected. Where's Mr. Gregory?"

"Mr. Gregory passed some years ago. I'm Tom Ward, I'm the Chipenden spook. Now how can I be of assistance?" he asked again. The man seemed not to hear.

"You're just a lad! You're younger than my eldest son! How could you possibly be able to help us?"

"What is happening?" Tom asked calmly. "Why do you need help?"

"My daughter –" the man was choked with sobs and took a moment to continue. "My youngest daughter, my little Elsie –"

The man stopped, his eyes wide with panic, and seemed unable to go on. Alice took the sack from Tom's feet and nodded in the direction of the cottage. She would return there to give the man some time to tell his tale. Tom nodded, turning back to the weeping man, and Alice started through the withy trees toward the western garden, the smell of the farmer fading in the wind. When she reached the house, she deposited the sack in the kitchen for the boggart to take care of, then returned to the garden to sit on the bench and wait for Tom to come with news. She did not have long to wait. Not five minutes had passed when Tom hurried into the garden and straight past the bench, beckoning Alice to follow. The uneasiness in Alice was scratching again, clawing and tearing inside of her. Something was wrong. Something about this farmer was… _wrong_. She could not explain more than that, even to herself, but she knew that danger awaited. She rushed into the house after Tom.

"I have to set off immediately," Tom said, gathering his bag, cloak, and staff from near the front door of the cottage. "A witch abducted the man's child."

"Wait!" Alice called. He turned at the sound of panic in her voice.

"What is it?" he asked, his brows lowering in concern.

"Don't go." Alice wrung her hands, twisting her fingers to the point of pain. Tom stared at her for a moment in utter disbelief, his mouth open slightly.

"How can you ask me that?"

"'S just…I… I have a bad feeling."

"Have you scryed something?" Tom put his hands on her shoulders.

"No. I haven't been…. You know I –" Alice stopped and didn't finish her sentence. There were suddenly tears spilling over her eyelashes and trailing down her cheeks. She blinked them out of her eyes but could not find the words to speak.

"I know. And you know that I trust your instincts." Tom sighed thoughtfully. "But you also know that I can't abandon this man and his family."

Alice nodded, sniffing. "Then I'm coming with you."

"I don't think it's a good idea," he said quietly. "Not while this family is so frightened of witches."

"Don't know nothing about me, do they? I could be a village girl for all they know. I can help. The child might be injured."

"Alice, no. It's not a good idea. You need to stay here."

"Stay out of sight, you mean. Trying to keep me hidden away, you are."

"I didn't say that," Tom sighed.

"'S what you meant though, ain't it? You've got to save your reputation! No one's going to trust a spook who lives with –"

"That isn't what I said at all! I just think it would be safer for everyone if you stayed behind."

"Safer for _them_. You don't trust me." Alice's tears felt hot, burning in her eyes and down her face. He didn't trust her. After all that had happened, she truly couldn't blame him, but it was painful nonetheless.

"That's not it, Alice. I trust you more than anyone, you know that." He brushed a stray hair out of her eyes and looked at her anxiously. "What's going on?"

Alice just shook her head, closing her eyes. "It's nothing," she whispered.

"Is it the villagers? That will blow over, I'm sure. They'll get used to you, see you're nothing to fear." Tom smiled, leaning down to catch her lowered gaze with his own.

Alice nodded as if she agreed entirely, trying to smile back.

"Alice, I have to go. Will you be alright here on your own?" Tom asked as he stepped back and threw his cloak around his shoulders.

"'Course I will. Always am." Alice fastened Tom's cloak at his neck and tugged out a stray thread from the hem of the hood. "You'll… You'll use a mirror if you need me?"

Tom smiled, kissed her twice, and hurried out the door. Alice wondered as soon as he was gone if she should have asked him – begged him – not to go.

* * *

The bell rang not two hours after Tom left. Alice could smell men at the crossroads from the moment she stepped out of the cottage. There were at least a dozen, she could tell, and she recognized the scents of the butcher, blacksmith, and greengrocer among them. Alice steeled herself and walked into the withy grove. The butcher and blacksmith stood in front of the rest of the group, both with arms crossed. Somehow they looked bigger than Alice had ever seen them.

"Spook's gone out. Won't be back for a few days, I expect," she said by way of greeting. It was clear, though, that these men were not here for the spook's help.

"That's well enough," the butcher said.

"Aye," agreed the greengrocer, "it's you we've come to see."

"And why would you come to see me?" Alice crossed her own arms, glaring up at the men.

"There's been some problems here in Chipenden." The butcher stepped forward and Alice matched his step. "Problems that we didn't have until you came here."

"Admit it!" the greengrocer yelled shrilly. "Admit you killed that man! You felled that tree by way of some dark spell!"

"Won't admit to something I didn't do, now will I?" Alice snapped. "I think you should leave. Go back down to the village and leave us alone."

"Not until you return the child you abducted!"

Alice heart thumped. "I didn't abduct any child. He must have run off, like I said."

Her mind suddenly turned to every child Bony Lizzie had harmed, to a dungeon in the lake country full of caged children Alice had freed. She had purged Lizzie's mind of that time, of the powerful magic Alice had inside herself. That made every victim of Lizzie's from that day forward Alice's fault. She had known that for years. Alice protected herself instead of the future children Lizzie was after. Was the child buried in the fells her fault too? Was it because Alice wouldn't use her powers that the child had died? Alice's logic fought her – how could it be the fault of anyone other than the killer? But another part of her, a prickly part that burned hot as an ember, reasoned that with her passivity, Alice had allowed that child to die. She could have fought off the darkness in the County years before if she hadn't been so afraid, so weak. The villagers were right – John Gregory was right – she could never be fully trusted, not after betraying so many lives like that.

"Where is the child?" the butcher asked, coming in line with the greengrocer.

"I don't know," Alice whispered.

"Where is the child?"

"I don't know!"

" _Where_?"

" _I don't know_!" Alice was screaming now. Her rage and fear was boiling over, the embers in her igniting into a flame.

"You killed that boy!" The greengrocer was red in the face, spit flying from his mouth as he shouted.

"No!"

"You ripped a young child away from his mother and killed him to rise in the eyes of Satan!"

"No." Alice shook her head against the hot tears were burning in her eyes. "No."

" _You are the spawn of the devil_!"

There was a strange moment of silence after this declaration. Of course the greengrocer had no way of knowing just how right he was, but something snapped inside Alice. The next thing she knew, she was screaming as loud as she could, her grief and rage echoing across the fells. The wind picked up, cold and harsh, gathering black clouds over the grove of withy trees. Lightning struck with a sound so loud that most of the men, the greengrocer included, dropped to their knees in fear, hands clapped over their ears. There were shouts of fear, but Alice did not hear them. She felt the wind around her, whipping her dress against her ankles and her hair against her head. She watched the men cower before her, and they grew smaller. She was rising. The wind was lifting her into the sky, and she felt the toes of her pointy shoes leave the ground. The men scattered, fleeing back toward the village, and as their screams faded into the shrieking wind, one sound arose for Alice to hear.

The bell was ringing.

The wind stopped, and Alice was freefalling to the ground.


	6. A Reason to Trust

**SIX: A Reason to Trust**

Alice hit the ground hard, slamming first onto her knees and then her hands before her elbows buckled and she collapsed onto the lane, breathing heavily. Her palms and knees were burning from the scratches inflicted by the hundreds of snapped withy twigs now littering the grove.

What had happened? Just as she lost her temper, she lost all reign over her powers. She had been keeping them dormant, bottling them inside of her, pretending they did not exist, for years now. Alice had never wanted to be a witch, but time and time again she was shown that she could not avoid it. The villagers were right to fear her, even though she meant them no harm. Who knows what injury she caused with her outburst? She felt drained of all energy, all vitality. If she closed her eyes and relaxed into the ground, she wondered if she might just disappear altogether. It used to be that using her powers filled her with life, with an ecstasy unlike any other. She used to feel drunk with power. And now? Now she felt like absolutely nothing. But she hadn't the time to waste in self-pity; with her ear to the ground, Alice could hear the pounding footsteps of at least thirty villagers coming back to the grove. They regained their courage faster than she expected, and there was nothing left for her but to run. It was no longer safe for her in Chipenden.

She briefly entertained the thought of returning in the cottage, but she would be besieged. The villagers would simply wait until she ran out of provisions, or they may even call in law enforcement to be rid of her. They might burst through the garden bounds at any moment and be obliterated by the boggart. Ignorant though they may be, they were still essentially innocent and Alice did not want them harmed. She could not afford to guess how far the villagers were willing to go in their fear. So Alice scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the west.

She stayed on the lane, as it offered the simplest path away from her pursuers. Alice peeked over her shoulder to see a throng of villagers not far behind her. She considered veering to her right off the lane and losing them in the woods, but the fells began not much further northward than the woods, and she would only lose speed on the incline. To the south was mostly farmland and the village proper south of that. The only way forward seemed to be maintaining her course westward until either her strength or the villagers' failed. She told herself she could outpace them, but in truth she was hoping they would give up their chase once she escaped the boundaries of the village. Her lungs just had to hold out until then. Already her chest was burning, her throat aching, her legs feeling wobbly and numb. She stopped to rest, to pull a few painful breaths into her screaming lungs, bracing her hands on her knees. Her scraped knees and scraped palms irritated each other, and she had to straighten up. There was a deep ache in her back from her fall, but she knew if she sat now she would never outrun the villagers.

They would never forgive such an outburst. Alice had revealed the consequences of losing control, and she wondered if she could ever go back to the peaceful life with Tom she had worked so hard to cultivate. She had had such tight control until now! She had managed to keep herself in check for so long, trying to bring herself back to whoever she was before Pan, before the Fiend, before Bony Lizzie. But how long had she been repeating I am Alice without even knowing who Alice was?

There were more immediate threats to outrun. Alice's ears were piqued by a new sound, a rumbling farther back on the lane. She could feel the vibrations in her feet. Hoofbeats. Suddenly Alice's speed on the lane did not matter so much, since she certainly could not outrun a horse. She turned to the north and started zigzagging into the fells. The incline only made her more exhausted; it was as if she could feel every muscle in her body burning individually. When she stopped for a moment, she could still hear the villagers, still smell their sweat and their fear. So she kept running.

Alice evaded the villagers well into the night. Soon it became less about speed and more about stealth as both she and her pursuers lost their stamina. The night was dark, darker still beneath the trees on the slopes of the fell. Alice didn't know which hill she was climbing anymore. She thought perhaps she was somewhere west of Parlick Peak, but she had been wending her way through the darkness for so long now that it was impossible to tell.

It was also impossible for Alice to see the sheer drop off before she fell. The faint walking trail she had been following veered sharply to the northeast, but she had not been able to see it in the dark, instead walking off the path to a small cliff. The distance was relatively short, thankfully, less than two meters, but the shock of it gasped the air from her lungs. She dropped over the edge and landed awkwardly on her feet, rolling her ankle beneath her. Alice grit her teeth, holding back a scream of pain. She stumbled down onto her knees, snagging the skirt of her dress on some unseen branch. Yanking her dress free, she sat on the damp forest floor. Alice cursed her weak ankles. This was certainly not the first time they had stopped her from fleeing danger. In so many of those other times, though, Tom had rushed to assist her.

The thought of Tom made her heart lurch. He had no idea where she was, no idea that she had left against her will. He would come back to the cottage to find her vanished. She imagined Tom sitting alone in the Chipenden house, imagined herself shivering through the night in this unknown forest. Would he think she had abandoned him? Or did he trust her enough? She had never given him reason to trust her, she knew. But she thought of all the promises she had made to Tom, even the ones she never said out loud but was determined to keep anyway. She thought of the cottage, of the bed upstairs still rumpled from sleep, of the boggart in the kitchen, of the spook's library renewed from ashes, and she remembered herself at age twelve simply knowing that she and Tom would live in that cottage together one day.

And Alice got very angry. It wasn't the desperate, cloying anger from the withy grove. This was a cold, calculating anger. Someone was trying to chase her away from Chipenden, from her _home_. Someone had cleverly turned the villagers against her while forcing Alice to need their help – first with the dead child, then the fallen tree. Someone painted her as untrustworthy, as suspicious, and probably sent Tom away to leave her vulnerable. Or so they thought. Alice decided she simply would not allow it. She would not allow this person to separate her from Tom, from the cottage, from the only true home Alice had ever known.

To get back to Tom, she had to move forward. She wondered vaguely how far away Tom's spook's business had taken him, if she could make it that far. She tightened her hands around her painful ankle, holding it still. It wasn't broken, but it hurt too much – and she was simply too spent – to walk any farther. She had left before the man at the withy trees had gotten far enough in his story to mention where he lived, anyway. Another thought crept in. Tom could very well have been ambushed on his journey, held captive while Alice was driven away. Alice pushed away her worry for Tom; he wasn't stupid and he wasn't weak, and she had her own safety to worry about. For now, though, Alice curled up on her side and let her exhaustion overtake her. The first step in returning home was regaining her strength.

* * *

Alice woke early, just as the morning birds were starting to call. Her ankle, stiff from the cold of the night, was even more painful this morning. Still, she could not remain where she was. The daylight would be advantageous for her flight, but it would also aid her pursuers and she was now injured. She heaved herself to her feet with the help of a nearby sapling, just sturdy enough to hold her weight, and staggered forward. Her steps were slow and uneven, her limp so pronounced she was nearly hopping. It made more noise than she could afford, shuffling through dry leaves and underbrush. She had to stop every ten hops or so to catch her breath, but at least she was making progress. She could not hear the villagers' footsteps following her, nor smell their scents in the wind. This heartened her, but she still needed to find her way out of the woods.

A stroke of luck greeted her, the first in what felt like years, as the morning was becoming warm. The forest thinned, and Alice could see a well-trodden path. Though she wasn't particularly keen on seeking help from villagers like those she left behind, Alice needed medicinal supplies, not to mention food and water. She had no provisions with her, not even her pouch of healing herbs, and none of the necessary plants could grow in a forest so dark and dense. So she followed the path, making slow, staggering progress into the northwest. She did not make it very far before needing to sit at the foot of a tree, leaning her back against the rough bark and feeling it scrape against her tired spine. She closed her eyes, letting the breeze dry her sweat. It gave her a pleasant shiver. Breathing deeply of the forest air through her nose, she smelled something – someone – close by. Someone was walking up the path from the southeast, she could hear the footsteps now. Why could she not smell him sooner? It was too late for her to move into the safety of the shadows; already the man was coming into view.

It was a priest.

"Hello?" the priest called out when he spotted Alice sitting at the edge of the path. "Are you alright?"

Alice used the trunk of the tree to stand. She did not speak.

"Are you alright?" the priest asked again when he was closer. Alice nodded. He was maybe thirty, with black hair and a narrow nose. Why hadn't she sniffed this man out sooner? Was he cloaked in some magic like the dead man at the withy grove?

He saw the way Alice was standing, the ginger way she let her foot touch the ground. Then his eyes shifted lower to her ankle, bruised and swollen above her pointy shoe.

"Are you injured? These woods can be dangerous, I know."

"Just twisted my ankle, 's all." Alice eyed him warily.

"Here, lean on my shoulder and I will take you back to my village. You look as though you are in need of a hot meal and a warm bed." The priest offered his arm, stepping closer.

Alice stumbled back, leaning against the tree to keep her balance. "Don't need anything from you."

"If you walk on that ankle much longer you may do permanent damage," the priest said seriously. His face changed to a kindly expression. "My name is Father Cooper. What is yours?"

"Alice."

"Alice…?" He wanted a surname. Even if she wanted to give it to him, Alice had let go of the Deane name years ago. There was no other identity for her to claim. Her father, her true father, had no family name. So she kept quiet. Better to let Father Cooper think her a fallen woman than to admit to her heritage of the Pendle clans. The priest simply nodded understandingly at her silence, accepting her first name only. "Come Alice, let me tend to your ankle at the rectory."

So Alice agreed. She could see no other option. She would take advantage of this man's hospitality – eat a good meal, rest, and escape in the night. Then she would find Tom.

* * *

 **Ok tbh I'm not super happy with this chapter, so bear with me. But thank you all so so much for your kind reviews! It means a lot, and really keeps this story going. I've written up through the first half of Chapter 10, and I have a long term plot plan, so stick with me everyone! Thank you thank you thank you!**


	7. A Southern Priest

**SEVEN: A Southern Priest**

They spoke very little on the journey to the village. It seemed as arduous for Father Cooper as it was for Alice, who leaned her weight against him and hopped pitifully along the path. His patience never faltered, but she was ceaselessly frustrated by the pace. Tom could be bleeding to death in a ditch, for all she knew, and her weakness could be costing him his life. But the pain in her ankle was becoming unbearable, aching and burning until she could think of nothing else, until even thoughts of Tom were pushed to the back of her mind. The priest seemed to notice her pain – perhaps from the grimace etched on her face – and suggested a rest.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Alice protested. She wanted to reach the rectory as soon as possible. Every minute they lagged was a minute than could have been spent searching for Tom.

"I need a rest," Father Cooper insisted, helping her sit upon a jagged mossy boulder. He sat across the path on a fallen log and regarded Alice with curiosity as she caught her breath, bracing a hand against her burning chest. "Do you know these parts well?" he asked.

Alice shook her head.

"Nor I. I am from much farther south, you see. I have only been in this area for a few months, and I'm afraid I still know precious little about the County."

Alice did not respond, now rubbing at her shin as if it would soothe her ankle pain. Father Cooper took her silence as permission to continue with his story.

"I attended the funeral of an old friend at Priestown last year. When I saw the…well, the state of things in the County, I took it upon myself to find a parish here."

"The state of what?" Alice asked unkindly. She was growing more and more mistrustful.

"The people here need the Word of God." The priest's eyes widened as he spoke. "They are trapped in their outdated ways, and only the Lord can lead them to freedom!"

Alice watched him warily but did not speak.

"The old ways are ingrained within them," he continued. "They believe in demons, spirits, and witches! Witches!" he laughed, shaking his head.

Again Alice said nothing. Father Cooper may know nothing of pointy shoes and Pendle District, but the villagers whose church he oversaw would not be so ignorant. He sighed, quiet with his thoughts. The derisive laughter faded from his face.

"Alice, do you know of Salem?" he asked, resting his elbow on his knee. Though he was on the other side of the footpath, somehow he seemed to be looming far too close.

Alice shook her head. "Who's that?"

He chuckled darkly. "Salem is not a _who_ , but a _where_. It is a village in the New World. My third eldest brother, a priest like me, sailed to the New World some years ago. He wrote to me of Salem not long after, though of course the letter took over a month to reach me. When the letter did finally arrive, it contained a very distressing account. My brother told me of the deaths of twenty-five people in Salem due to a false belief in witchcraft. Twenty-five innocents dead at the hands of witch hunters and their weak-minded followers. And I vowed that such ignorance would not lead to the death of one more person. Not while I can spread the Word of God."

Alice looked down. The victims in the New World _were_ innocent, of course – a real witch would have sniffed out the danger without effort. It certainly was not a tale Alice wanted repeated here in the County or anywhere else, but she also wasn't quite sure that Father Cooper's version of religion was the answer. To avoid that conversation she rose to her feet, deciding that she had rested enough. She gripped the priest's proffered arm and began limping on again.

They emerged from the forest into the late morning sun at the edge of a grassy garden. It was not very well-kempt, the flower beds overgrown with grasses and weeds. A squat house crouched about fifty paces away, windows evenly spaced across the long wall, and Father Cooper informed her that this was his home, the rectory. Another few minutes and Alice had staggered across the garden to a brown door on the side of the rectory. The priest held it open for her and she limped across the threshold into a comfortably furnished room, though dim and low-ceilinged. Nearly as soon as she entered the room, the exhaustion of the night collapsed upon her, and Alice sank into an armchair without being asked. Father Cooper made no comment, disappearing into another room for a moment.

He returned holding a box. Pulling another chair closer to where Alice was resting, he opened the box and pulled out a length of linen bandaging. He reached for her ankle, and though Alice's mind recoiled at the thought of this strange man touching her, she could not summon the energy to move herself away. Sitting down seemed to be all it took for her to succumb entirely to her fatigue. Father Cooper untied her pointy shoe and eased it off her swollen ankle, placing the shoe gently on the floor. He wrapped her ankle tightly with the bandage until it was completely immobile and resembled a fat cocoon. Alice closed her eyes, the bandage having eased her pain some. When she opened her eyes it seemed she had fallen asleep, though it hadn't felt longer than a blink. Father Cooper was standing above her with a tea tray he had not had before.

"My housekeeper was kind enough to make tea. Shall I bring it upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms for you?" he asked. Alice had to admit to herself that nothing sounded better than a rest in a comfortable bed. She rose awkwardly, supporting herself on the arms of the chair. Seeing her pointy shoe on the floor at her feet, and knowing it would never fit over her ankle now, she held it by the laces and followed Father Cooper. Her bound ankle rather hampering her progress, she leaned all of her weight on the stair rail. The priest led her to a small room in the back of the house with a window overlooking the garden and the woods beyond. It was sparsely but comfortably furnished with a bed, a chair, a small chest of drawers with a wash basin and mirror, and a side table with a Bible. Father Cooper set the tray on the side table and turned to Alice expectantly.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"No." Alice was too weary to be polite.

"Please drink some tea. Have a peaceful rest." He closed the door behind him, and Alice pressed her ear to the wood to listen to his footsteps descending the stairs. Hardly able to remain standing any longer, Alice collapsed on top of the bedclothes and promptly fell asleep, still wearing one pointy shoe.

* * *

It was already dusk when Alice awoke again. For a moment, she thought she was home at the cottage in Chipenden, and reached her left arm out to feel for Tom. All she felt was empty space. Remembering where she was, in the relative comfort and safety of Father Cooper's rectory, she sat up and gazed around the room. The tea had grown cold, untouched, on the table to her right, and her eyes fell on the Bible that accompanied the tea tray on the table. Like the cold tea, it remained untouched.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she limped slowly, feeling stiff, toward the window that offered a view to the garden and the forest through which she had arrived. The light outside was gray and blue with the setting sun, casting an eerie stillness over the world. Her ankle ached beneath the wrappings, but she could not waste much more time before setting out to look for Tom. The man who had come on spook's business looked like a farmer, with sturdy muddy boots and wiry muscles, but she hadn't recognized him. He probably led Tom somewhere east of Chipenden, out toward the farmland of another village.

That was assuming, of course, that the man truly was in need and hadn't led Tom into a trap. Alice sighed. There was no way to find Tom with so little information. Glancing at the mirror above the drawers across the small room, she strode close enough to see her reflection within the wooden oval frame. It surprised her how dirty she looked, wild and unkempt like a vagabond – like a witch. Her hands started shaking, heart feeling weak and small within her chest. She told Tom to use a mirror if he needed her, but the truth was it had been years since either of them had communicated in that way. It was just something she said to remind him that she was always there to help on the rare occasions they were separated. She had done her very best to leave that life behind. Alice wondered what it would cost her to use one now. She chewed the inside corner of her mouth.

No. She could not bring herself to do it. She would find Tom with her own instincts – they were rarely wrong. She could sniff out that farmer again and take it from there. No dark magic needed. For the time being, she needed to look after herself – heal her ankle, build her strength. Then, at her most effective, she would find Tom.

Following her nose, Alice hobbled back downstairs, her heavily bandaged foot nearly slipping several times on the sleekly polished stairs. She could smell something savory wafting from the kitchen, but before she could investigate, Father Cooper approached from the drawing room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, placing a congenial hand on her upper arm.

"Fine." She felt tired, actually. Weak. The stairs seemed to be enough to exhaust her.

"Come sit with me while my housekeeper finishes our supper." He offered Alice his arm and assisted her in limping into the drawing room. He settled her in a purple armchair by the fire and sat in its twin across from her. Alice found herself staring into the fire dazedly, suddenly feeling more exhausted than she had in the forest the night before. She could not say how many minutes passed in this drowsy silence before Father Cooper spoke.

"Where are you from, Alice?"

"Um," Alice sleepily dragged her eyes from the fire to his face. "Southeast of here."

"Do you have family?"

Alice could have laughed or cried, but she had the energy for neither. She had a large family, maybe the largest in the world: her father had sired hundreds of children, maybe thousands over the centuries, so she had half-siblings of all forms. On her mother's side she had Malkins dating back to before written history.

"No."

"No family at all?"

"No."

"That's very sad to hear." Father Cooper seemed sincere, but Alice could not bring herself to care. Pity was the last thing she was interested in. This priest could do nothing for her. "Why did you come to these parts?"

"Looking for…work," she lied clumsily.

"Indeed? Well perhaps I can set you up with some household work when your foot is healed. My own housekeeper has just put in her notice I'm afraid."

Alice looked back into the fire.

"I'll go look in on our supper, shall I?" the priest asked, rising. He returned almost instantaneously, it seemed to Alice, declaring supper to be waiting for them.

He led her into the kitchen and sat her at a wooden table in front of a steaming bowl of stew. It smelled delicious, but Alice's head was growing foggier by the moment. If she had drunk the tea, she might have thought she had been poisoned. But she had not touched the tea. What was happening to her? Father Cooper was speaking, but it all sounded muffled. She could not make out individual words, but his tone was rising. He was shouting. Alice's vision was growing blurry, but she saw a woman enter the room from the priest's right. She looked somehow familiar to Alice, but the world was steadily growing too dark for her to see.

* * *

 **Wow I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I'm taking an online class and it's killing my brain. But my final paper is due this weekend, so expect more soon! Also, the Salem witch trials happened in the early 1690s, so it is plausible for someone in Lancashire to know about them in the early 18th C. I think. Please review!**


	8. A Bout of Weakness

**EIGHT: A Bout of Weakness**

When Alice awoke, she was back in the spare room and early morning light was streaming in. She blinked her eyes roughly, trying to clear her vision. Everything swam before her eyes. She felt dizzy even though she was lying prostrate on the bed, as if her brain had turned to liquid and was swishing around inside her skull. Still, she forced herself to sit up, squeezing her eyes shut as the world spun. When her dizziness settled, she opened her eyes. The tea tray that had once been on the side table had been replaced by a pitcher of water and a glass. She poured herself a drink and, after sniffing it thoroughly, gulped down the clean water. It revitalized her somewhat, at least clearing the fog from her mind.

What had happened to her? She was convinced she had been poisoned, but by what? She had not drunk the tea, and had collapsed before eating dinner. In fact, she had not eaten since breakfast at Chipenden the day before. Doubting herself, she wondered if it was simply exhaustion, a culmination of the struggles of the last few days.

She could faintly hear footsteps ascending the stairs and approaching the bedroom door. Almost simultaneously with the turning of the latch, the water glass slipped from Alice's hands and rolled over the edge of the bed. It was as if all the strength had been sapped from her fingers. She flinched as it smashed on the floor. The door swung open so forcefully it hit the wall behind it, and Father Cooper rushed toward her.

"Are you alright?" he looked panicked.

"Fine," Alice responded, feeling lightheaded again. "Just dropped it."

"Oh dear. I'll send my housekeeper in to clean up the glass. Stay where you are, I wouldn't want you to cut yourself." He closed the door behind him as he went back down the stairs. Moments later, Alice heard a lighter pair of feet approaching the spare room. She opened her mouth to tell the housekeeper what had happened, but the words died in her throat when the woman entered the room.

The housekeeper was Mab Mouldheel.

"What are you doing here?" Alice snapped, her strength seeming to return with her rage.

"I'm keeping house for a kind man in a lovely village," Mab said placidly. She looked older – it had been a few years since Alice had seen her last – but just as pretty as Alice remembered. Still, there was a harshness in her eyes and around her mouth that Alice never could trust.

"I don't believe that for a second."

Mab's face broke into a wicked smile. "You're quite right. I've actually done something very clever."

Alice glared, waiting.

"Do you like the house?" Mab asked, sitting at the foot of the bed dangerously close to Alice's injured ankle. "Lovely, isn't it? And Father Cooper is such a kind gentleman. You know he checked in on you several times through the night. He just can't seem to leave you alone."

Alice said nothing.

"Oh, I'm so glad you like it here. Because, you see, this is your prison. I made it specially for you. What do you think?"

"What are you talking about?" Alice asked angrily. "Can leave here anytime I want to, I can. Not you nor that priest can do anything to stop me."

"Of course," Mab condescended, patting Alice's bandaged foot gently. "You can leave as soon as you can find the strength. You'll just never feel strong enough."

"Don't be daft."

"Oh, I'm not. I've made sure of it. You don't have the willpower to leave this house. You've already proved that."

Alice opened her mouth to speak but Mab cut her off.

"Look at yourself, Alice. You're bedridden. You don't have the strength to do… anything."

"You poisoned me!"

"I didn't have to!" Mab crept closer, inching nearer until Alice could smell her foul breath. Alice shrank back instinctively. "All you had to do was set foot in this house, and I scryed that weeks ago. You are weak, Alice Deane. Weaker than I even expected. I knew you'd grown soft, but this?" She smirked. "You stay here, in your soft prison, with your lovely priest, and I will – well, never mind what I will do."

Alice suddenly made the connection. It was Mab who had left the child's corpse at the bell, who had felled that tree to kill the man at Chipenden. "You killed a child," Alice accused.

Mab shook her head, pursing her lips. "No, a highwayman killed him, along with the rest of his family so no need to worry about bereaved parents," Mab smirked. "I just brought the body to you. In fact, it was the boy's father under the withy tree. I knew you wouldn't be able to deal with it on your own, that you'd get the villagers involved. And they've never trusted you. Why should they?"

"What have you done with Tom?" Alice asked darkly, fear and anger boiling inside her until her voice shook.

"He's perfectly safe. More than safe, really. Alice," Mab lay her hand on the blanket by Alice's leg, leaning forward with an expression of mock sympathy, "Tom is better off now."

Alice rolled her eyes.

"The truth is, Alice, that…Tom doesn't want you. He hasn't for some time. Not since you betrayed him with—"

"Are you stupid?" Alice cut her off angrily. In truth, she couldn't bear to hear the name. It was a memory that she would be better off forgetting. "Been with Tom for years, I have."

"And for years he's wanted to be rid of you. He's just too kind to say it. You have to face it, Alice. You're not good for him."

Alice couldn't argue that. "How would you be any better, Mab?"

"I'm stronger than you. I've proved that time and time again, since we were children. I've been leader of the Mouldheel coven for years, and you? You're too frightened to use the power you've been given even to find your precious Tom. I know you haven't used that," Mab pointed to the mirror on the wall across the room.

"You don't know anything," Alice sneered.

"I know that you have the power to heal your foot with the blink of an eye. So why haven't you? Because you're frightened."

Alice almost argued. She almost told Mab what lay awaiting them both in the dark after death. Enemies both old and new, human and demonic, horrors neither of them could imagine; flies coating her throat and her tongue; a path where one misstep would lead to sheer oblivion. She almost admitted that she was afraid, that she thought maybe if she never touched her powers again she might be spared such an eternity. Already she was facing an infinite abyss that would forever separate her from Tom.

"And you think you've imprisoned me here, for what? So you can get to Tom? He has a mind of his own, you know. He won't let you near him."

Mab folded her arms, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Actually, as I recall it, it was you that wouldn't let me near him. It was your brand that prevented us from kissing."

The corners of Alice's mouth twitched.

"But that's all gone now. You let him go."

"I did what I had to do," Alice growled, more to herself than to Mab. Mab wasn't listening anyway.

"As for your prison… I'll let you figure out how it works. I think you'll find it's quite a clever spell."

"And I think you'll find I'm not as weak as you want me to be."

"We'll see." With a wicked grin, Mab drew a pair of scissors from her skirt pocket and swiftly cut a lock of Alice's hair. It happened too fast for Alice to react other than a sharp gasp leaving her mouth. "This is how weak you've become, Alice. I don't even need a lock of hair to control you. Just wanted to prove that I could."

Mab dropped the hair into Alice's lap and left the room, chuckling to herself. Alice meant to follow her, throwing the bedcovers back, but Father Cooper reentered as soon as Mab had left. Alice shoved the hair into her skirt pocket lest he see.

"How are you feeling, Alice?"

"Fine." She was fearful, humiliated, and could scarcely contain her anger.

"I see Maria missed a few pieces of glass here." He stooped, pulling out his handkerchief to carefully pick up the shattered glass Mab had entirely ignored.

"Maria?"

"Yes, my housekeeper. Didn't she introduce herself? Although as I said, she will be leaving in a few days to rejoin her family. Family is so important, don't you think?"

Alice didn't respond. She was suddenly feeling weak again, depleted of all strength. Father Cooper took no notice, rambling on.

"It must have been very difficult for Maria to leave her family. It was agonizing for me to leave my own family behind in the south, but I knew my work here would be very important. I have six brothers, you see, and many of them have children of their own. It pains me to think that I am missing my nieces and nephews growing up."

"Six?" Alice's voice sounded faint even to her.

"Yes, I am the youngest of seven brothers. As was my father, in fact."

A seventh son of a seventh son. No wonder Alice could not sniff him out until he was upon her in the woods. Probably Mab's idea of a joke, luring Alice away from Tom and into the house of another seventh son. Alice's anger resurged, but she felt too feeble and sleepy to act upon it.

"You keep resting," Father Cooper stood, holding the shattered glass in his handkerchief. "I must go dispose of this somewhere safe."

Alice closed her eyes, her brow taut with tension. Mab had Tom. Alice was sure there was very little truth to everything else Mab had said, but it was true that Alice had betrayed Tom. She had done unspeakable things and she knew it, and though Tom had forgiven her time and time again, Alice could never forgive herself. What comforted her now, though, was this: Tom had bound Alice with a silver chain and threatened to put her in a pit before he knew the truth of her betrayal, of her debt to Pan. If he wanted to be rid of her now, he would not have spared her feelings. Tom would never lie to her. He had told her just two days ago that he trusted her more than anyone, and though she knew she didn't deserve it, she would of course rescue him.

The question was, how?

* * *

 **I promise promise promise I haven't forgotten this story! Updates will be sporadic, however, because I am back in school. Much love!**


	9. A Future Foretold

**NINE: A Future Foretold**

Mab was right about another thing: Alice was bedridden, and in such a state she could do nothing to help either Tom or herself. Though she was loath to play into Mab's deranged game, puzzling out what she meant by Alice's 'prison' seemed the only way forward. Leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling, Alice began to ponder. Mab had said herself that she had not needed poison, so it was a spell holding Alice hostage. Alice had lost consciousness nearly as soon as Mab had entered the room last evening. Could it be that simple? Was it Mab's presence that created a prison of weakness? It was possible, and yet they just spoke and Alice felt strong enough to strangle her. But Mab was powerful enough; she could control how weak or strong Alice felt in her presence. Alice shook her head as if shaking the thought away. It couldn't be right. If the spell is only active in Mab's presence, then Mab would be as confined to the house as Alice.

Alice groaned, only able to focus on the fact that she hadn't eaten in over a day. Was it worth the risk to journey downstairs in search of food? A whining moan from Alice's stomach told her it was. Just as she was heaving herself out of bed, however, her nosed sensed that someone had thought of it before her. Faint footsteps were creeping closer as the smell of food (ham and eggs?) intensified. The footfalls were heavy enough that Alice guessed it was Father Cooper. Knowing that food was coming to her, she relaxed back into the bed, groggy with the thought of warm food in her belly, and closed her eyes.

"I thought you might need some nourishment," the priest said as he stepped through the door, but his words sounded far away. Alice could feel herself just barely clinging to consciousness as her mind began to sink into the void of sleep. She could smell the tempting aroma of the food Father Cooper had brought, but could not rouse herself.

A hazy thought emerged from the fog in her mind. _It was Father Cooper._ He was the vehicle of Mab's spell, and it was his presence that left her so weak. Rage and triumph swelled within her. Father Cooper whispered that he would leave her to sleep and crept from the room, the hot breakfast still in his hands. She had discovered Mab's spell, but what was she to do about it?

It took several minutes for her to recover. With difficulty, Alice eventually sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, thinking up ways to avoid Father Cooper without raising his suspicions until she could escape. She could sleep, but she knew he checked in on her often. Why else would she be waking up feeling so weak? She could ask to have a bath, but then he would return to her and all the strength she raised would be sapped away again. She was not sure she could even survive another meal with him. Mab had planned it this way, Alice knew. She concocted this sly prison to keep Alice at the mercy of her own willpower while Mab beguiled Tom with fascination and glamor. She might even convince Tom that Alice stayed with this priest of her own volition. Tom was strong, and as a seven times seven he possessed some immunity, but Mab was a powerful witch. That much was clear.

At least Alice's ankle was feeling better. With a whole day and night of nearly uninterrupted bedrest, it barely hurt at all when Alice unwrapped the bandages and wiggled her toes. If she found an opportunity to run for it, she figured she would at least be physically able to do so. Feeling tired but not so weak any longer, Alice tied on her pointy shoes and stood. She felt lightheaded for a moment, but recovered quickly. She glanced at the mirror across the room, seeing the reflection of the windows that overlooked the garden. Knowing now that Mab was behind all of this trouble, perhaps it was worth using the mirror to find Tom. Was that exactly what Mab wanted, though, for Alice to relent and use her powers? For all Alice knew, using dark magic may strengthen Mab's prison tenfold. It still may be worth the risk. Alice stepped in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection but not seeing it. She let the thoughts of Tom she had kept at bay flood into her mind. She focused as intently as she could, until nothing else existed but her thoughts of Tom. It was easy. Easy to think of Tom, but easy to slip into the darkness that governed this magic.

She flinched when Father Cooper opened the door and interrupted her.

"I thought I heard your footsteps," he remarked by way of greeting, smiling kindly at her in the mirror. Alice felt herself sag like the wind gone out of a sail.

"Yes, I'm feeling much better." She focused all of her willpower on remaining strong, on overcoming Mab's spell.

"Would you like to come down for a small bite to eat?"

How could she agree? The last meal she shared with him had disastrous results. Another incident like that could kill her, for all Alice knew. On the other hand, she had to admit to herself that she was starving. The priest moved nearer and the edges of Alice's vision turned dim. She stepped back as quickly as she could but it only worsened the spinning in her head. Catching her hip on the chest of drawers, she grabbed the edge to steady herself.

"Um – I think – Uh," she stuttered, unable to coalesce her thoughts into words. Her hearing became nothing but loud ringing.

"Oh dear. Perhaps you had better stay in bed. I'll bring something up for you. You really do need to start building up your strength."

Alice nodded, closing her eyes to block out the dizzying swirling of her vision and allowed him to assist her back to the bed. She was again fighting for consciousness by the time the priest eased her onto her back. Keeping her eyes closed, she heard him leave the room again. Cursing to herself, Alice rubbed her eyes as she felt her strength slowly returning from the priest's departure. She cursed herself for being susceptible to the spell, cursed the priest for being so utterly helpful, then cursed Mab for the whole thing.

Just as she was feeling steady enough to open her eyes, she heard Father Cooper's returning footsteps ascending the stairs, and he appeared in the doorway.

"I'm afraid Maria has gone out for provisions, but she'll be back to prepare some lunch."

"Alright," Alice whispered, covering her eyes with her arm.

"Oh dear," he said again. "I'm concerned to leave you alone this morning."

Alice squinted one eye open. "Alone?"

"Yes, Alice, it's Sunday. I'll be at the church for much of the day."

Sunday. Was it already Sunday? Alice had completely lost track. This would be an excellent time for her to escape the rectory, probably the best opportunity she would get.

"I'll be alright. I'm already feeling better." She had to squeeze her eyes shut to find the strength to speak.

"Are you certain? Maria is out for the morning. You will be alone."

"I'll be fine."

Father Cooper looked unsure, but the expectations of his congregation seemed to weigh heavier than his concern for Alice. He made her promise to fetch him if she took seriously ill. While this seemed entirely illogical to Alice given her condition, she weakly assured him that she would, but she would be resting for the day, and that nothing could be more helpful than peace and quiet. He wished her a peaceful rest and bid her farewell.

Alice crept back downstairs as soon as she heard the front door close, and watched him walk away through a front window. Finally alone, Alice felt her vitality returning. She was very nearly gleeful. With her ankle so much improved, and Mab's spell avoided, Alice was free to escape the rectory and start her search for Tom. The question now was where did she begin her search? It made the most sense to begin at Chipenden. Her sense of smell had always been sharp, above average even for witches, and though Tom was immune to long-sniffing, she could attempt to sniff out the farmer who had rung the bell.

Well, there was no time to waste. Alice headed toward the kitchen to scrounge up what she could to sustain her on her journey. She hadn't eaten for a whole day, so she was more than willing to steal from Father Cooper before she left. He would probably consider it charity anyway. Alice burst into the kitchen and stopped short.

"Glad to see you're feeling so chipper," Mab greeted with that cruel smile Alice had so quickly grown to hate. She was sitting casually at the kitchen table as if she had been waiting.

"Just fetching myself something to eat." Alice smiled sardonically back.

"I wouldn't like to think you're taking advantage of Father Cooper's hospitality, Alice. He does seem to enjoy your company so, and would hate to see you leave so soon." Mab took an apple from a basket at her feet and took a crunching bite.

"What's to stop me? I could walk out the front door and be gone before church is over."

Mab just smiled. "You're certainly welcome to try."

"Well, as I said, I am only looking for something to eat." Alice opened every cupboard she passed, but they were either stocked with dishes or entirely empty. "Is there _any_ food here? I thought you were out getting provisions."

"I'm afraid I'm simply not a very good housekeeper," Mab shrugged. Taking another apple from the basket, she threw it at Alice with force. Alice caught it with both hands before it could hit her square in the nose. She joined Mab at the table and sniffed the apple loudly before taking a bite.

"You know, Alice, you may learn to like it here. Maybe Father Cooper isn't quite so handsome, but he might be a suitable replacement for Tom."

"Because he's a seven times seven? He's also a _priest_."

"Hasn't stopped him before," Mab's eyes narrowed darkly. At Alice's pause, she continued, "Oh yes, our parish priest has a dark secret. Didn't you sniff it out? Or has your nose gone weak as well?"

Mab cackled at her own joke and Alice watched her warily, chewing the apple.

"You could ask him why he _really_ came to the County. Or better yet, wait until he proves it himself. Priest or not, he'll ask when you're of marrying age, you mark my words."

"Can't very well do that with your spell putting me to sleep every time he comes near, now can he?"

"Oh, I know, you just _swoon_ when he touches you."

Alice glared, biting her apple violently. Mab just chuckled. Alice sighed through her nose, swallowing the apple and feeling it settle like acid in her empty stomach. She finished the apple in silence, trying to ignore Mab's unending stare.

"We were allies once, you and I," Alice said quietly, finally meeting Mab's eyes.

"We weren't. You betrayed the cause – you betrayed Tom," Mab reminded her. As if Alice didn't feel it every minute of every day. As if she didn't wake up in a cold sweat more nights than not.

"I played my part."

"I lost a sister." Mab leaned forward over the table. "So I don't really care about you endlessly switching sides or your tiny broken heart. I lost family."

"Taking revenge on me, are you? All these years later?"

"Don't mistake this for revenge. This isn't about you."

"About Tom then? He's been nothing but forgiving to you." Alice stood, slamming her hands flat on the table, her apple core rolling to the floor. The idea of Mab anywhere near Tom made Alice's blood boil.

Mab smiled that irritating smile that made Alice want to scratch out her eyes. "Alice, there's no need to grieve for your life with Tom. You may think he cared for you, but his love for me…. It was foretold."

Mab took the basket from near her feet and placed it on the table, sliding it toward Alice. "Help yourself."

Alice lifted the cloth covering the basket and peered inside. It contained half a loaf of bread, three more apples, and a healthy chunk of County cheese. After sniffing the contents, she tore off a hunk of bread and took another apple.

"Do you remember Tibb?" Mab began as Alice started eating.

"The kretch? What about it?" Alice sat down again.

"He lived for such a short time, but he was a skilled seer. And he told me, in secret, of my future."

"And?"

"He told me of a young man. Said he would be loyal to me if I helped him defeat his most dangerous enemy. And I've done that. Time and time again, I've saved Tom from those out to kill him. I fought the Fiend himself."

"Well, loyalty isn't quite the same as _love_ , you know," Alice smirked through her mouthful of apple.

"The two tend to go hand in hand though, don't they?" Mab jibed back. Alice looked down at her apple core. Her loyalty had always been in question, since she was a child. There was nothing she could do to prove it now; it was far too late to ask anyone to trust her, and she knew it. She grabbed another piece of bread and let Mab continue.

"No, not even killing the Fiend could earn me Tom's loyalty. It seemed that even the Fiend wasn't Tom's most dangerous enemy. It's you."

Alice swallowed harshly, the bread feeling like a rock moving down her throat.

Mab grinned. "It all made sense once I figured that bit out. His attachment to you is the very danger I have to save him from."

"So you're going to kill me then, are you?"

Mab shook her head regretfully. "That wouldn't fulfill the prophecy, I'm afraid."

"Then what would?" Alice's voice was dark.

"Why, Tom must kill you himself."

Alice nearly smiled. "You're a fool."

"It may take time, but Tom will come round to my way of seeing things, I promise you. He's still too fond of you now, foolish as it may be. But he thinks you've run off again. Once he realizes the truth – that you've left him for another man—"

Alice barked a humorless laugh.

Mab glared at the interruption. " _Then_ he will become attached to _me_ , and we'll come back for you. I'll keep you here, where I can find you. Like I said, this is your prison."

"Are you going to come back every Sunday to keep me from escaping?"

"Why no. You'll be in church, of course. Our dear friend Father Cooper will see to that. He'll try to _fix_ you, you know. Save your soul, or suchlike." Mab waved her hand as if the priest's efforts were akin to a buzzing fly. "He'll reform you in all the ways John Gregory couldn't manage. Who knows? Maybe you'll become a good, upstanding member of society. It wouldn't be so bad, keeping house for a priest for the rest of your life. Or, if he breaks his vows…." Mab shrugged. "Perhaps you'll be mothering your lovely children."

Alice would listen no more. Rising to leave, she shoved the basket back across the table where Mab caught it with one hand and peered inside.

"Oh dear, you did eat a lot didn't you? This was meant to be Tom's food, but I'm sure he'll understand. You know how he loves his County cheese," Mab chuckled.

Alice left the kitchen without another word, her full belly feeling like a lead weight.


	10. A Battle of Wills

**TEN: A Battle of Wills**

Alice knew she only had today, Sunday, to break Mab's spell and flee the rectory. It did not seem possible to overcome the effects of the spell by sheer willpower; there had to be another way. She wondered briefly if she had it in her to kill Mab, but figured it would cause her more harm in the long run, as she was likely the only person who knew Tom's whereabouts.

The spell must be centered somewhere, Alice thought. She knew even Mab couldn't keep up a spell like this with only the strength of her mind, not while traveling between here and wherever she was keeping Tom. It would exhaust anyone to maintain a spell for so long over such a large area. Alice went back through everything Mab had said, seeking any clue Mab may have inadvertently revealed. It was only Father Cooper's presence that affected Alice; she felt perfectly herself when he wasn't around. And just as Mab had said, the spell did not take effect until Alice had stepped into the house. It had been almost instantaneous, the sudden exhaustion that overtook her when she arrived at the rectory.

It was the rectory, then. The rectory, and not Father Cooper, housed Mab's spell. How to overcome it? She could burn down the building, she supposed, but that was risky. The fire could be extinguished before the spell was destroyed, or Alice herself could be killed before escaping. No, she needed a more certain plan. As Mab had also indicated that Alice would not be able to leave the rectory, it seemed prudent to search the building. Even with Mab skulking about, Alice figured that the danger couldn't outweigh the possibility of breaking the spell. Mab had already said she didn't intend to kill her outright, and there must be some sort of altar or barrier keeping the power of the spell when Mab left to visit her prisoner, Tom.

Thus, Alice began systematically exploring the rectory. She supposed she could try going out the front door, but Mab's threat remained in her mind. The door could kill her, and it would take her too close to the church anyway. It would be better to escape unseen. She went upstairs, intending to try every door and attempting to sense any dark magic in use. She started with the corner room and found it to be a spare bedroom, void of any magic as far as she could tell. She skipped over the next room, as it was the other spare bedroom Father Cooper had given to her. Next was a linen cupboard, and the last door was locked. Alice rattled the handle, wishing not for the first time that she had a special skeleton key like Tom's. It was probably Father Cooper's bedroom, as it was certainly the biggest on this floor, which made Alice even more curious about what needed to be locked away. Short of breaking down the door, though, it seemed impossible to get inside without the key. Perhaps Father Cooper had a study and kept such things in there.

With this thought in mind, Alice headed back downstairs to continue her search. She had already been in the kitchen and the drawing room, but there must be somewhere else. Remembering she had seen a door her first night beside the fireplace, Alice returned to the drawing room. Sure enough, to the left of the fireplace, there was a door that nearly blended into the white walls behind the chair in which Father Cooper had sat that evening. As she walked toward the door, however, she could not seem to reach it. It was a very strange feeling. She moved forward, intending to try the handle, but her body simply curved away and walked past it. She tried again, focusing on the door, walking toward it with purpose – and her path simply did not take her to the door, as if the door stopped existing as soon as she moved toward it.

Something was blocking her. It was as if an invisible wall in her mind prevented her from getting close to the door, which almost certainly meant that the room contained something worth protecting. Alice kicked at the door frustratedly, but even her foot was somehow deflected and her pointy shoe made contact with the baseboard of the nearby wall instead.

"Looking for something?" Mab said from behind her. Most likely she had heard Alice's footsteps on the second floor and had come to protect her spell. If Mab was getting nervous, Alice knew she was getting close.

"'Course not," Alice smiled disarmingly. Mab scowled.

"Give it up, Alice. You won't find what you're looking for."

"If you were certain of that, wouldn't still be here, would you?"

That was it. That moment of doubt in Mab's eyes was all Alice needed. Alice felt her spine straighten, her chin rise. She could destroy Mab's spell, Alice knew it now. Her worries for Tom, and even for herself, melted away. She would save him, return to the house at Chipenden, and continue their life there together. Mab's scowl deepened, and the malice on her face made Alice wonder how anyone could find her pretty. No wonder she had to resort to dark magic and kidnapping.

"What's in this room, Mab?" Alice turned to face the door that somehow she could not open.

"You don't have the will to find out," Mab sneered.

"You know nothing of my will," Alice snarled under her breath. She stayed facing the door, concentrating upon it: white paint, faded where the sun shone upon it, dusty in the corners, a wrought iron knob and lock plate. It certainly did not seem impenetrable. She could feel Mab standing behind her, could feel the worry Mab was trying so hard to hide. "Don't you have a prisoner to feed?" she asked Mab scathingly, referring to the basket Mab had claimed was for Tom.

"S'pose I do," Mab admitted quietly. Her resolve seemed to be fading as Alice's grew.

"If your spell is as good as you say, then you have nothing to worry about. And I'm sure Tom is hungry by now, what with being your hostage and all." Alice did not take her eyes off of the door.

Alice heard Mab sigh sharply, but when she spoke her voice was bright. "Alright then. I'll just be off to bring Tom his food. Don't think I'll be back for a bit. You know how he is."

As Mab left, Alice simply smiled.

* * *

Long after Mab's departure, Alice remained a sentry at the white door, staring at it unblinkingly. It was Mab's will that held the door closed, and in this battle of wills, Alice could not be sure who was prevailing. The sun had shifted, casting Alice into a shadow and illuminating the white paint of the door until it hurt her eyes to look at it. But still she stared. She could break Mab's will. Alice would break the will that kept her away from this door, and destroy whatever was in the room that kept Mab in power. She thought of Mab's concern, of Tom's inevitable rejection when Mab brought him the meager basket of food. The invisible membrane keeping her from the door felt thinner, and she moved just an inch closer. In just another moment, she would break through.

But a voice pushed its way to the surface of her mind. What are you doing? it asked. This is dark magic. You promised. You promised Tom. You promised yourself. Alice told the voice to go away and mind its business. Dark magic or not, she was doing this to save her life and Tom's. Wasn't it worth it? Wasn't she fighting fire with fire?

The invisible wall protecting the door grew suddenly impenetrable, shoving Alice backward with such force that she stumbled. When she regained her footing, she found all her strength depleted. The sun had long since set; she had spent the entire day silently battling this door, and still she had failed.

Father Cooper would be returning at any moment, so Alice closed herself in the spare bedroom to avoid him. She heard the front door open and close, then footsteps climbing the stairs. Hurling herself under the covers, Alice shut her eyes and fought to steady her breathing. Her own door opened, and she felt the strange weakness that came whenever the priest drew near, but it faded when he closed her door and walked to his own bedroom down the hall. Alice waited, patiently counting out ten minutes before she leapt out of bed and crept back downstairs, trying to minimize the clicking of her pointy shoes on the wood floor.

She would have another go at the white door. Without Mab to interrupt her, the only thing standing between Alice and the destruction of the spell was Alice herself, and she would not allow her own doubt to stop her. She stood in front of the door, her back straight, her shoulders back, her mind sharp again. She focused all of her will on opening the door, on the simple act of turning the knob and pushing the door inward.

And she stepped forward and opened the door. Smirking to herself, she stepped into the locked room, the room Mab had tried so hard to keep hidden. In the end, it had been quite simple.

The room was small and square, and Alice sensed nothing important or powerful about it. It looked to be Father Cooper's study as she had suspected, with a desk strewn with papers and a small sofa for visitors. Standing in the center of the room, she turned in a slow circle, sniffing sharply in each direction. Nothing.

"There must be more," Alice murmured to herself: more that Mab had hidden, more layers of the cloaking magic. On the far side of the room was a windowed door through which Alice could see the back garden, and her instincts told her that despite her nose, this was what Mab was trying to hide. A back door. Still riding on her pride from beating Mab's clever spell, Alice strode across the room and opened the door. As soon as she turned the knob and released the door from its frame, a great surge of power coursed from her hand through her body and out again like lightning. It was over in a split second, but Alice was filled with panic. She was shaking from the power that had forced its way through her, and footsteps were creaking on the floor above her. Something told her that being caught in Father Cooper's study could very well be dangerous. Closing the back door quietly, she rushed out of the study and closed the white door just as Father Cooper descended the stairs.

"Alice? What are you doing awake at this hour?" He drew near, and though Alice instinctively jerked away, she did not feel the weakness that had become characteristic of his presence. She had broken the spell. Opening the back door was all she had to do. Now to get out of Father Cooper's house and find Tom.

"Just needed a bit of a walk," Alice said placidly.

"I hope you didn't go outside."

The darkness of his voice made Alice uneasy, but she just smiled and shook her head. "Came down here from upstairs, is all. Change of scenery."

"Alright," Father Cooper seemed relieved, which only heightened her unease. "Why don't you return to your bed?"

Alice shook her head. "I'm quite awake now. The sun is almost up, so perhaps I'll go out for provisions and make breakfast in a few hours? I'm afraid your housekeeper has left."

The priest hesitated. "Maria has gone?"

"Yes, I saw her leave yesterday. Did you not expect it?"

"I-I did, just not so soon." Father Cooper's face faltered, but he regained his smile. "I appreciate your offer, but I will fetch provisions myself this morning. You stay here, rest your ankle."

"Thank you." Alice dutifully sank into an armchair, pretending to be grateful for the rest. In truth, she felt more alive than she had since fleeing Chipenden. That surge of power woke her up in a way she had not felt in a long time. It was exhilarating to feel such power. She shamefully admitted to herself that she wanted to feel it again.

She watched Father Cooper carefully as he turned to head back up the stairs. As he stepped over the threshold out of the drawing room, she loudly sniffed once. He turned to look at her, surprised, but she fixed him with her most innocent gaze until he ascended the stairs without further comment. Settling back into the armchair, Alice smiled to herself.


	11. A History Known

**ELEVEN: A History Known**

The priest returned shortly after leaving, dressed for the day. Alice watched him from her armchair, trying her best not to smirk. She knew the truth of him now, she had sniffed it all out.

Father Cooper had not come to the County on a theological mission. He certainly believed himself to be wiser than County folk, but that was not the reason for his move northward. He had been sent here as punishment, forced into the ignorant rural County to atone for his sins. And what sins were those? Alice chuckled darkly to herself. It was just as Mab had implied: Father Cooper had had relations with a young woman in his former village. Of course this is forbidden for priests, and Father Cooper compounded his sins when the woman fell pregnant and he did not marry her. Instead, he bribed another young man to claim the unborn child, and the woman's father and brothers killed the man in a drunken rage. The woman's father never knew what Father Cooper had done, but another priest had discovered the truth and told the bishop. Instead of excommunicating Father Cooper, though, the bishop decided to give him a second chance by sending him to the County, to a region they considered dangerously ignorant in the ways of the Lord.

"I do wish Maria had given more notice before leaving. I have much to do today, not much time for housekeeping work," Father Cooper complained, adjusting the hem of his sleeve. Alice offered again to fetch the provisions herself, but he declined with a smile that seemed sickly now that she knew him. "You stay here, you are a guest."

'Guest' seemed an unusual term for it, but Alice stayed settled in the chair. Though she was free, she knew it would be unwise to leave without her own provisions – it was early autumn and the rabbits would be thin, hardly enough for her to get by. With no idea where Mab was keeping Tom, she had no idea how long she would be walking to find him.

"I shall return within the hour with food and provisions," Father Cooper announced as he left through the front door.

Even with provisions taken care of, Alice had no heading for her journey. It seemed likely that Mab would keep him in one of two places: the farm to which Tom was summoned a few days earlier, or the home of the dead man and child left at the summoning bell. Unfortunately, Alice knew the location of neither. She could return to Chipenden and regroup from there, but it seemed a waste of time when Tom must be near enough for Mab to return to Father Cooper's rectory. Perhaps there was another way to get the information she needed.

She thought back to the farmer who had come to Tom for aid. Whether his daughter had been truly abducted or not, his fear was palpably real, and he was the only clue Alice had. What had she sniffed out about the farmer? She smelled the usual things – sweat, dirt, cows – but all farmers smelled of such things. What else? She smelled his fear, his desperation, and…something else. There was something unusual tinging his fear as he was sizing up Tom as the Chipenden spook. It was a fear for himself, not only his child. She would start there.

When Father Cooper returned with provisions and was stocking up his kitchen, Alice sat at the kitchen table and subtly interrogated him. The power from the back door still buzzed inside her, and her confidence felt intoxicating.

"Tell me about the parish," she said sweetly.

"Oh! Well," Father Cooper gathered his thoughts, clearly less than impressed with the local color. "It is beautiful countryside, don't you think?"

"Yes, I come from a similar village, though it is a bit smaller."

"What village is that?"

"Chipenden." Alice saw no reason to hide the truth if it would get her the information she so needed. "Just south of here."

"Ah, I've heard of a peculiar man who lives in Chipenden."

"Indeed?" Alice felt she was playing with a child.

"Yes, a 'spook' they call him. Gregory I believe is his name; seems about as believable to me as witches."

The man's ignorance was almost unfair compared to Alice's knowledge. "There is a man like that, yes. I believe he makes the villagers feel safer, knowing he would fight evil should it arise."

"And you were born there, you say?"

"No I was born in Pendle district."

Father Cooper stilled. He turned from the cupboard he was filling to face her. "I have heard many tales of that place, none of them encouraging. Members of my congregation say it is the center of witches and dark magic in the County."

Alice said nothing, seeing he was thinking.

"Alice, this is good news! You can come speak to my parishioners and tell them that Pendle contains nothing and no one to fear. You yourself hail from that place and are no more a witch than I."

"Oh, Father Cooper," Alice pretended to look downcast.

"What is it, child?"

"'Fraid my upbringing was not a happy one. Ain't nothing good come from Pendle, can tell you that."

"You come from there, my child." Father Cooper stepped closer. "Alice, dear, may I ask you something?"

Alice waited.

"How old are you? That is to say, when will you be of marrying age?"

Alice laughed out loud, her peals of laughter echoing around the room. Mab had been right of course, but Alice never expected her exact prediction to come true so soon.

"Time for me to leave, it is," Alice declared. "I'd appreciate a basket for my journey."

The priest seemed confused, and Alice let him stay that way. "You will return home to Chipenden, then?"

"No, I'm going after your housekeeper. She's taken someone very dear to me captive, and it's high time I hunt her down and bring him back."

"Maria, a kidnapper?"

"Name's Mab. She's a powerful witch, that one. Hails from Pendle like me, though a different clan."

"Then—" Father Cooper sputtered. "Then you're also—"

"A witch? Don't like to think of myself that way, but I suppose I am." Father Cooper gaped, and Alice stared back calmly. "Now, about that basket."

"I – no! I will not assist you! I will not give provisions to the forces of the Devil!"

"The Devil is dead. All I need is some food so I can find my Tom."

"No! No!" Father Cooper pulled his cross from around his neck and held it out for protection.

"Ain't gonna hurt you!" Alice was growing frustrated and angry. "I'm asking for help!"

"Stay back, witch!" He began to shakily chant a Latin exorcism, and Alice rolled her eyes. She snatched the basket from the floor, peered at what was left inside and deemed it enough for her journey once she had grabbed a loaf of bread. She fled the kitchen, went through the white door of the drawing room, and finally left the rectory through the back door. There was no bolt of lightning through her this time. The spell must have sealed Alice into the rectory, and some charm or spell on Father Cooper himself made her faint in his presence. Though it seemed nearly impossible, it would not surprise Alice if Mab had somehow gotten a lock of Father Cooper's hair.

But now Alice was free, and must decide her next move. Neither Father Cooper nor Mab would have been able to use the back door while the spell remained intact, so it was likely that Mab was holding Tom somewhere beyond the village, not back into the woods. A wind blew in from the northwest, and Alice sniffed it thoughtfully. Rotten leaves, bird feathers, growing squash. She would have to filter through every scent from every breeze until she found what she was looking for. Unfortunately, she could not do so while she remained so near the rectory. She jogged into the woods that bordered the property and waited in a tight copse of trees, smelling the air. She would have preferred a clearing – all the breezes were overpowered by forest smells – but this would have to do.

Alice waited for over an hour, growing stiff as she sat on the forest floor, sniffing every breeze that fluttered in. Another wind gusted in from the northwest, and Alice bolted to her feet. There was something new in this air, a smell that was unmistakably different from every other.

Fear.

Alice smelled true, uncontrollable fear, and for once in her life, it made her smile. Snatching the basket of food from where she had tucked it between two tree roots, she followed her nose in a northwesterly direction. The woods began to thin as she traveled, and she knew she would have to cut through the village at some point or another. As long as she avoided the church – and as long as Father Cooper hadn't sounded the alarm of a witch at large – she should be safe enough. Tentatively, she stepped out of the shadows of the woods and into the bright sunlight of the day.

Alice swallowed as she saw a group of villagers in the near distance. They weren't looking at her directly, but she was suddenly very conscious of her pointy shoes. She started walking casually, swinging the basket slightly as if it would help her blend in. She curved her path away from the village center, toward the outskirts which were mostly farmland until the border of the forest. Alice's confidence was growing the further she walked through the village. She even nodded at a passing villager, though the woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the sight of a stranger. It was, after all, a very small village. But Alice was on the pathway out of town, so there was no danger or gossip to be had. She passed the last houses, more scattered than the village center, and soon began to see green fields and farmhouses. She stopped and began to sniff the air again. Cows, goats, chickens, and…yes. The smell of fear was even stronger now. Again Alice followed her nose, her eyes squinted shut as she wandered toward the smell. Opening her eyes again, Alice knew exactly which farmhouse was inhabited by the farmer who summoned Tom at the bell. She saw it was not so far away, just a crossing of a field and a half.

She also saw Mab. She was standing in the middle of the nearest field Alice would have to cross, her arms behind her back and her stare like iron.

Alice should have known it would not have been so easy to be rid of Mab.

"Broke your spell, Mab!" Alice called out as she trotted down the hillside and into the field. "Now where's Tom?"

"He's safe enough," Mab responded when they were close enough to hear each other properly.

"And the farmer who's child went missing?"

"The same."

"Take me to Tom."

Mab paused, pretending to think. "Alright," she shrugged finally, and bashed Alice hard on the side of the head with a wooden club. Alice wasn't quite unconscious, but she did fall to the ground, her vision nearly black, and felt Mab start to drag her by the hair across the field. She allowed her eyes to close, and slipped into darkness altogether.


	12. A Reunion at Last

**TWELVE: A Reunion at Last**

Alice began to awaken again at a whispered call of her name.

"Alice!" Was she imagining it?

"Alice!" She tried to open her eyes. It almost sounded like –

"Tom?" she mumbled. Opening her eyes, she could see him in the dim light of an empty haybarn, seated, tied up diagonally across from her to a square post on the opposite wall. He was grinning so wide one could count his teeth, but there was a table against the wall to his right that worried her. It was draped with a black bolt of cloth and she could see candles burning, though she couldn't tell the color of the wax.

"Alice, I've never been so happy to see someone in my life. Are you hurt?"

Alice mentally checked herself over. Her wrists hurt from being tied with rope to a lumber pillar like Tom, and her head hurt from being bludgeoned. "I'll be alright," she told Tom. Seeing him was healing in and of itself.

"How did you get here?"

"I came looking for you," Alice said. "It's a long story, but of course it ends with both of us running in with Mab."

"Why did you leave Chipenden?" Tom asked. He was leaning forward as far as he could against the ropes, worried and confused.

Alice looked at Tom's boots to avoid his green eyes, remembering what had happened so soon after he left for spook's work. "They chased me out. The villagers." She looked up. "Tom, I might not be able to go back."

Before Tom could answer, Mab entered from a door to Alice's left.

"Hello, Tom," she greeted warmly as she kissed him on the head. Both Alice and Tom made faces of disgust. Mab proceeded to place a small cloth-wrapped parcel on the altar to Tom's right.

"What's that altar for?" Alice asked. Mab ignored her. Tom met Alice's eyes and shrugged, shaking his head. He didn't know what it was for either. Alice frowned thoughtfully. The altar wasn't for Father Cooper or Alice: it was both too far away and Alice had already broken that spell.

Mab unwrapped the parcel on the altar, but Alice was tied up sitting on the hay-covered floor, and she could not see what the parcel contained. Mab muttered something under her breath, placed the object in a particular section of the altar, and left soon after with a sickeningly sweet goodbye to Tom. Alice and Tom were alone again.

"She done that before? Added something to the altar?"

"Almost every day. She's building some sort of spell or ritual, is my guess."

"Can't be good, that."

Tom shook his head in agreement. Alice started rubbing the ropes that bound her wrists against the support beam to which she was tied.

"How did you find me?" Tom asked as they both struggled against their restraints.

"Sniffed you out. Smell terrible, you do."

They grinned at each other, but Tom knew something else led Alice to this barn.

"I sniffed out the farmer that rang the bell. He smelled like fear, so I thought I might find him that way. Ran into Mab instead."

"This is the farmer's barn. Haven't seen him since Mab tied me up, though."

"So a witch really did kidnap his daughter. Mab."

Tom nodded, looking worried. "I'm scared the altar might have something to do with it. Would Mab really hurt a child for dark magic?"

"I don't know, but she would certainly hurt me. We have to get out of here if we're going to help that farmer and his family. Any ideas?"

"I've been trying my best to get out of these ropes but all I've done is make my wrists sore. I don't suppose you have a knife on you?"

"'Fraid not. We could try to knock a candle off the altar. Can you kick the leg of the table?"

"Wouldn't that…do something?"

"Do what?"

"If we remove part of the altar, couldn't that be dangerous?"

"Don't know much about altar magic," Alice admitted.

"Besides," Tom glanced around pointedly. "This is a haybarn. A room full of tinder."

Alice took his point. "You got any ideas, then?"

Tom fell silent, looking around as if an idea might jump from the hayloft into his lap.

"How often does Mab come see you?" Alice asked.

"A few times a day. Why?"

"We only have so much time to escape before she returns. I wasn't meant to escape her last prison, so her plans are already out of control."

"Her 'last prison'?" Tom inquired. Alice shook her head; she would explain later, when they were free and heading back to Chipenden. If Alice could return to Chipenden.

"She might not keep me here with you," Alice continued. "She might take me to the farmer's family to keep us apart."

"Why bother keeping us apart if we're already tied up?"

"Oh, she expects you to fall in love with her as long as I'm out of the way."

Tom blanched. "I was afraid it was going to be something like that."

Alice grinned.

Tom sighed. "Has she always hated you this way?" he asked.

"Since we were children."

"Why?"

"She's a Mouldheel. I was a Deane. Guess I'm not though, am I? Not a Deane, not a Malkin. Not anyone."

"You could be a Ward," Tom murmured, his gaze soft.

Alice started. " _What_?"

But at that moment Mab returned holding the sharpest knife Alice had ever seen. It glinted even in the dim light of the haybarn.

"Time to go," she told Alice. Whether that meant out of the haybarn or out of the mortal world Alice was unsure. But Mab cut the ropes from Alice's wrists and hoisted her to her feet without any bloodshed. She gently poked the knife between Alice's ribs and directed her out of the barn. Alice scarcely had the chance to turn back to see Tom one last time.

Mab led Alice out into the dwindling sunlight. She could see a farmhouse and cow barn, the cows still grazing out in the fields.

"Can't keep me with Tom, now can you?" Alice gibed. "He won't fall in love with you that way."

Mab stayed silent.

"Say, Mab, you're really good at making prisons."

Again, Mab held her tongue. Alice risked the knife, twisting around to look her captor in the eye.

"Don't you ever get tired, Mab?"

"Tired of what?" Mab finally spoke.

"Tired of wanting what you can never have. Go back to Pendle. Lead the Mouldheels. Can't that be enough? Why do you have to bother Tom and me?"

"I _deserve_ Tom," was all Mab would give in response before shoving Alice forward.

* * *

A shortie but a goodie in my opinion. As always, any ideas you have would be welcome! I will credit any ideas that end up in the story! Love to all my readers!


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